


Champagne Success

by LightofEvolution



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Champagne, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightofEvolution/pseuds/LightofEvolution
Summary: Hermione is frustrated because she can't find the perfect champagne for the New Year party. Unfortunately (or luckily?) her fellow Head Boy offers his help.





	Champagne Success

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [ChampagneandCountdowns](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ChampagneandCountdowns) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> This main character is in charge of acquiring the champagne for the New Year rendezvous for the seventh years. It proves to be no easy task. What happens along the way to have the best drinks around?
> 
> *This piece is part of the Champagne and Countdowns OS Competition 2017 with Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook. I had a choice of New Year centric prompts the Admins of the group created. All characters from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.*
> 
> I'd like to thank my fantastic beta, M., for her work!

Hermione couldn’t believe she had sunken so far.

 

It was disgusting, degrading, and depressive.

 

Hermione Granger, Head Girl, top of her class at Hogwarts, hid in a quiet corner in the library. Though this wasn’t the Dark Arts section or even the restricted one. No, she hid in the seldomly frequented part where the books about household spells and everything surrounding stood.

 

It was all for research, really.

 

After all, she wanted to ensure that the champagne for the New Year party among the seventh years was the perfect choice. One could ask why it had to be champagne and not a barrel of beer and cheap firewhiskey. They had ‘lived through a war’ was Hermione’s argument, and they deserved something posh to celebrate the end of the year and the start of a new, entirely battle-free one.

 

Unfortunately, Hermione had no idea which champagne was good. One field where her knowledge and brain failed her spectacularly, and she was hell-bent on rectifying that.

 

“Looking up cleaning and washing spells to prepare for your life as Weasley’s little wife, Granger?”

 

Of course. Her darling fellow Head was on patrol duty tonight. 

 

“Get lost in that Vanishing Cabinet of yours, Malfoy.” She rolled her eyes as he ventured closer, unfazed by her harsh reply. A mousy first year that had gotten lost between the rows of books shrieked and ran away in horror.

 

You see, the two of them had fallen into a comfortable pattern of insulting each other without using any slurs or curse words or meaning real harm. How that came to be was difficult to understand. Ginny had told her once that their behaviour was a cover for unresolved sexual tension between them, but Hermione had laughed her off. 

 

Her?  Attracted to Draco Malfoy? Pfffft. Never ever. Not in a million years.

 

The shiver she felt when he fixed with his unrelenting silver eyes was nothing more than suppressed bloodlust. The impulse to run her hand over his body was only the memory of her hand meeting his face.

 

And we adult (hopefully!!!) readers all know that she fooled herself because let’s face it -- this is a _ Dramione  _ fanfic.

 

Anyway, Hermione wasn’t ready yet to admit that she had more than hateful feelings about her fellow Head, and so she desperately looked for ways to distract him from which book she was reading. Humiliation had a name, and it was Draco Malfoy if he ever got wind of the fact that she had no idea about fine, sparkling beverages. To her relief, she spotted Cormac McLaggan on the other side of the shelf containing helpful books like  _ ‘Garlic and Gnomes - battling or baking them?’ _ . Ignoring Draco’s irritated frown, she sped off with a mock cheerful, “Cormac! I wanted to ask you how your plans for the New Year buffet are going!”

 

* * *

 

 

On the 27th of December, Hermione hadn’t had any success concerning the champagne dilemma. Spending Christmas at the Burrow hadn’t really helped, though she had enjoyed the time around her friends and adopted family very much. The Burrow meant home for her, even when she and Ron were no longer an item and hadn’t been for some months.

 

Pondering her situation while the warm water splattered over her back in the shower, she had to admit she probably needed professional help. She simply had no idea where to start. The books in the library had been helpful with the theory: where the champagne was, how wizards and witches had been talented vitners there for centuries, their magic turning the beverage into something extraordinary muggles could only dream of - more exhilarating, more alcohol, more potent. 

 

As much as she enjoyed to learn about the practices, she needed someone proficient to tell her which one to pick - and where to order it. But who to ask? McLaggan? She knew his uncle had an extensive wine cellar; he had told her about that at the previous prefect meeting (and invited her to explore it with him…). Blaise? He was more an expert on  _ grappa, _ but he would be her last reserve.

 

Drying herself and then wrapping a towel around her body, she left her en suite bathroom - and stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted the blond wizard in her bedroom, reading the list of champagne brands she had already deemed worthy further investigation in his hands.

 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy! What the Hell are you doing here?” He jumped at the way she addressed him as she always did when she was angry with him. Purposely, one could add, because he made the mistake to tell her how much she reminded him of his mother when he did something really stupid as a child.

 

Now, he quickly gathered control over his facial expressions and raised one pale eyebrow at her, the list between two of his fingers in an almost accusing manner.

 

“What is this?”

 

“They’re called letters. Civilised people use them to write.” Draco rolled his eyes at her, a motion he had copied from her.

 

“Do I assume correctly that you’re looking for an adequate beverage for the New Year party?” 

 

Life with him would be easier if he weren’t so bloody smart. She nibbled at her bottom lip and played with a strand of her still wet hair because she knew he hated it when she played girly-girl. “Yes?”

 

“No! This is a champagne catastrophe; the brands and years not even close to acceptable! Really Granger, you can’t possibly expect me to let you get away with this!” Though his voice dripped with consternation, Hermione felt an opportunity coming up. 

 

“Does that mean you will help me?” she asked hopefully.

 

After muttering something intelligible at the parchment still in his hands, he sighed dramatically. “Yes, I suppose this means I will help you, but under my con-”

 

He didn’t finish the last words because Hermione had thrown herself at him and hugged him forcefully. It was a tactic that rendered him quiet every time she used it, maybe because as a pureblood and Slytherin it wasn’t in his DNA to hug for fun.

 

Though, after some seconds, Draco cleared his throat. “Granger, could you please cease hugging me? You’re getting me wet in certain places.” 

 

Only then Hermione realized that her towel had slipped away due to her hug-attack. Damnit. As if something like that happened to her every other day, she picked up her towel and covered herself before returning to the bathroom with a very red face. Behind her, she could hear Draco slamming the bedroom door closed forcefully.

 

Rude, wasn’t he?

 

* * *

 

Hermione woke up to someone gently shaking her shoulder. She moaned for she was definitely not a morning person, and all she could mumble was, “Go away, Ronald. It’s way too early to listen to your kinky fantasies involving Lavender and an orange.” It wouldn’t be the first time her two male best friends appeared at the most impossible of times and _ needed  _ her female input on something relating their girlfriends.

 

A chuckle. One that didn’t sound like Ron  _ at all _ . “First of all, I’m not  _ Ronald _ . Secondly, if you think my kinks are that uncreative, you really should come and visit  _ my bedroom _ , Granger.” 

 

She nearly fell out of bed after that. Legs flailing, she brought herself into a sitting position. “Malfoy, this is the second time in as many days that you’ve come into my bedroom uninvited!”

 

His chuckle had developed into real laughter. “My, Granger, you are a sight in the morning!” He pointed at her chaotic bed-head and the wrinkles in the old shirt she wore to sleep. It must have been a Quidditch shirt once, but it had been washed so often that one couldn’t say for sure now. But Hermione loved it because she had brought it over from the Burrow, and it smelled like Molly’s detergent and  _ home. _

 

“And by all means, you can invite me to your bedroom any time.” He winked at her, and she yawned exaggeratingly. “Remember I told you I’d help you? So this is me helping. You have five minutes to dress in something close to acceptable for human company. We’re awaited at a champagne sampling I arranged yesterday.”

 

* * *

 

We’re making a bit of a time jump forward in our story here because Hermione couldn’t remember much of what happened at the sampling at  _ ‘Leprechaun’s Liquids’ _ , the exclusive liquor store Draco had brought her to. But she knew he must have been as sloshed as she was when leaving there because she woke up cuddled into his side in their common room.

 

Through the haze that was her hangover - complete with a rising nausea and a pounding headache - she was aware of two things: Draco Malfoy’s scent made her want to lick him, and someone stood in their Head dorm and laughed themselves silly at their expenses.

 

It must have been one of his friends this time, for Draco, also in the process of waking up, tried to shoo them away. “Blaise, you bastard! Take your sorry Italian arse and get out of my bedroom!”

 

More laughter. “I’m sorry to tell you, Draco, but this isn’t your bedroom. You must have fallen asleep on the couch after coming back from Salazar knows where. Pub crawl with Granger, maybe?”

 

Hermione commented on his speech with a rude hand gesture.

 

“We’ve been sampling some champagne and over-indulged a bit,” Draco drawled.

 

“A bit, you say?” Hermione had closed her eyes again and buried her head against something Draco (His shoulder? His stomach? She didn’t care), but heard how Blaise shoved his friend with his foot.

 

“You two look awfully cozy. Did, by chance, this sampling involve drinking the champagne from Granger’s belly button?” The notion of him being cozy with anyone catapulted the Head Boy from the sofa and her automatically into an upright position.

 

“No!” came Draco’s forceful answer, and she would have been slightly hurt, but then she heard him adding a muttered, “sadly not,” afterwards while he practically pushed Blaise out of their quarters without even asking why he had been there in the first place.

 

Twenty minutes later with a large cup of coffee and some buttered toast in their stomachs and a Hangover potion in their bloodstreams, Hermione pondered her situation. “Let’s sum it up. Yesterday didn’t help me in the least. I was too tipsy to take notes, and we both can’t remember which champagne was the best, other than a vague memory of ‘a greenish and reddish label on the bottle’,” she vented her frustrations. 

 

“I only agreed to help, not to act as your secretary, so the absent notes are your problem, not mine.”

 

“Can’t you simply owl the shop and ask which one we probably liked the best?” She tapped her foot against her chair impatiently.

 

Draco huffed at that, his voice taking an arrogant tone. “A Malfoy who can’t hold his liquor? That would be a first!” 

 

Something in his words set Hermione off, and she replied, venomously, “I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Like seeing the mistakes of the past. Or has your family taken many muggleborns champagne tasting?” That was a low blow, and she knew it.

 

Remember I mentioned how their bantering had become something akin a game between them? Well, for whatever reasons, this morning was an exception. Draco, his lips pressed together firmly, grabbed his broom and left the room without any comment. Hermione was left behind and buried her face in her hands, feeling inexplicably sad and angry with herself. This hadn’t gone as she imagined at all.

 

* * *

 

Draco and Hermione did the adult thing - and ignored each other for two days. Hermione wasn’t even sure she could explain what had happened, nor did she want to apologize.

 

But time was running out for the New Year’s party, and she still had no plan for the champagne. In the end, she decided to choose the next best option, which was asking Cormac for help.

 

After an endless back and forth of how much he wanted to take her to his uncle’s shop, Hermione’s even longer explanation of why she didn’t want to go, and a slight Stinging hex when his hands began to wander from resting on her shoulders to her hip, she had recommendations for three good champagnes. 

 

On the 30th of December, Hermione invited Ginny for a girls night, and they thoroughly tasted the sparkling beverage in between gossip, polishing their nails (Ginny insisted) and some overdue normal talking. That hadn’t been possible on Christmas with all the testosterone around at the Burrow.

 

When Draco came back from the library where he had spent his time doing homework like the good student he actually was, Hermione was more than a little tipsy and light-headed. So tipsy in fact that she pouted at him.

 

“Dracooo,” she copied Pansy’s whining, which never worked as she intended but caught his attention. “I don’t like it when we don’t talk to each other.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” he asked with folded arms, though mildly amused.

 

“Yours! Mine? I don’t know anymore. Does it matter?”

 

“Hermione Granger not knowing something does indeed matter a lot!” he teased her, apparently not angry anymore.

 

She smiled at him and stepped a bit closer. “Hug?”

 

“No. And not only because you are drunk. Or is it pumpkin juice in those mugs?” He grabbed Hermione’s mug from her. Due to the lack of champagne flutes, they had poured the liquid into coffee mugs.

 

His eyes didn’t leave hers when she took a swig from her mug, and Hermione wondered briefly how he could turn that simple motion into something suggestive. Because suggestive it was for her, and she suddenly felt very warm. She wanted to comment on it, but she was too captivated by his eyes and too dizzy to shake it. 

 

His expression changed moments later and turned into something that resembled the incident when he didn’t get his favourite Earl Grey for tea. Frowning, he handed the mug over to her, strode to the bathroom purposefully, and returned with a small potion vial. 

 

“Here, drink this.” And, without a real explanation as to why she followed his orders, she drowned the liquid and immediately recognized it as Sober Up potion. Though, under his intense gaze, her mind stayed hazy, but the room stopped spinning.

 

“And now? Care to explain?”

 

“Now,” he grabbed her hand and led her to the fireplace, opening the Floo connection with a whip of his wand, “we’re saying goodbye to Ginevra here because there’s some work for us to do.” With the giggling Ginny in her ear, Hermione was swept through the Floo.

 

Once they had arrived on the other side, the brunette chastised Draco, “The Floo connection in the Head dorms is for emergency use only! What will Headmistress McGonagall say?”

 

Still leading her by the hand through what looked like a huge, candlelit cellar, the blond replied, “Believe me, Granger, that hippogriff piss you drank as champagne  _ was _ an emergency!” 

 

From the depth of the room, a huge man in wizard robes appeared, almost falling to his knees when he recognized Draco. “Oh, the young Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise.”

 

Draco nodded in ways of greeting and introduced them. “Hermione, this is Monsieur Bardelle; his family has been the Malfoys’ wine and champagne vendor for centuries.” The overweight man took Hermione’s hand and pressed a kiss on it. Pureblood etiquette, of course.

 

“And this time, you brought such a lovely madame with you.” 

 

“Yes, indeed. This is Hermione Granger, my fellow Head Girl.” With a schooled eye, Bardelle’s gaze wandered down to where Draco still had his fingers intertwined with his. Upon the older man’s questioningly raised eyebrow, she expected the young wizard to pull his hand back. 

 

To her surprise, Draco didn’t even react and continued, unfazed, “We’re here because we need your expertise.”

 

Their cause was quickly explained, and the vendor guided them through the rows and rows of expensive alcoholic beverages. 

 

And they still had to unclasp their hands. Concentrating on the feeling of Draco’s skin against hers, she found he was warm, the surface slightly calloused where he gripped the broom at Quidditch. He either didn’t know he held her hand, or he didn’t care. Nor did she, she had to admit; it was a rather comfortable feeling. But when he started to rub circles on her palm with his thumb, she shivered. And it wasn’t because she was cold.

 

Yes, we all know Hermione was only a hair's breadth away from admitting her physical attraction to the handsome blond Malfoy scion. At least it distracted her so much that she was surprised when Monsieur Bardelle addressed them, “This is a choice of three of the champagnes I think would be perfect for an event like yours, not our most expensive ones, but with a high quality nevertheless.”

 

All of the offered drinks tasted spectacularly, she had to admit, so it wasn’t easy to pick the best when she was asked. 

 

“I like them all, but I think this Dom Perignon Oenotheque is the best among the presented ones.”

 

Monsieur Bardelle gave an approving nod. “Your girlfriend has an exclusive taste, Mister Malfoy. She safely went for the rarest and most expensive among the samples.”

 

“Yes, she’s extraordinary.” He grabbed her hand again, taking up on the circling with the thumb again. Hermione grew hot after listening to Draco’s words, feeling he was deadly serious. She gulped when he didn’t even correct the vendor about their relationship status.

 

After ordering the appropriate amount of bottles for the feast, Draco and Hermione floo’ed back to Hogwarts, finding their room completely empty. And Hermione was glad Ginny had already left because as soon as her feet had left the fireplace, she turned around and poked Draco in the chest accusingly.

 

“Stop doing that!” she hissed.

 

He smiled innocently. As innocently as the sin personified could. “What?” 

 

“Being this new, attentive, and sweet you! I can’t think clearly when you do that.”

“What?” he repeated, smirking now and stepping closer to her, so close that their noses almost touched. 

 

“That! Why are you being like that? It doesn’t make any sense! We’ve been at each other’s throats for the past years, and just because we’re somewhat civil now, it doesn’t mean we-”

 

“Maybe because I want it?” Draco interrupted her. He cupped the curve of her cheek with one hand and started rubbing these damn circles on the soft skin there. Goosebumps erupted everywhere on her body, even though she felt very hot at the same time. 

 

“But…” Her breath caught, and she didn’t know what to feel anymore except a sudden rush and butterflies she came to associate with Draco. It was all too much, too sudden, too good. “Maybe I don’t know if I want that!” The palm flattening against his body, she pushed him away from her, so hard that he landed in the armchair. 

 

Hermione stomped into her room, needing time to think. First, she slammed the door closed behind her, only to open it after a few seconds and yell at the blond in the chair, “Thank you for helping me with the champagne!” 

 

She didn’t see the goofy smile upon her fiery behaviour on Draco’s lips. 

 

* * *

 

We all know this short story has to end at the party Hermione had gone through so much to organize the champagne for. That’s why we’re heading forward to that event now.

 

Though, we aren’t interested how the other guests reacted to the bubbly stuff. There was a lot of laughter and champagne, some silly shenanigans, and a lot of snogging and other physicalities. That’s what happens on many New Year’s parties, and especially when young adults are involved.

 

We’re focussing on Draco and Hermione here, sidestepping Lavender and Ron, as well as the orange the latter carried around with him.

 

Shortly before midnight, Hermione pulled Draco on a small balcony overlooking the grounds. Casting a warming charm, she shuffled her feet, gathering her courage to start the conversation.

 

Thankfully, Draco stepped in and praised, “This dress looks beautiful on; the colour really compliments your eyes.” Of course, Draco would find a way to make her blush before she even started, and his eyes roaming her body didn’t help one bit.

 

“Thank you. You’re quite dashing yourself.”

 

Modest as he was, he answered with a grin and, “I know.” 

 

She couldn’t help but grin back, but then resumed to the words she had prepared. “I’ve been a lot about you and me in the past days.” She waited a moment, relieved when he didn’t break out in hysterical laughter because she saw something between them. Instead, he nodded encouragingly. “And I really like how far we’ve come since...May, actually. You’ve been nothing but kind to me this year.” 

 

Draco lowered his head a fraction and flashed her a glance that was both ashamed and bashful. Cued, Hermione continued, “Yes, I call all that bantering and teasing and sparring _ kind _ \- because it was exactly what I needed. Something would be seriously wrong with the universe if we didn’t do that. I’d even say it’s cute.” 

 

“Malfoys aren’t-” 

 

She stopped him by laying a finger on his lips, his eyes widening in surprise. “If you finish that sentence, I’m going to pour this excellent champagne over your head.” 

He breathed in as if he wanted to say something, but then the clock struck twelve, and the fireworks lit the night up. Though, Hermione and Draco didn’t pay attention to the spectacle, as their were fixated on each other.

 

“To new beginnings,” Draco toasted when her hand had left his soft lips. 

 

“To new beginnings,” Hermione echoed and sipped on her champagne. “It really is exquisite, isn’t it? Though, I’d really like to have have your opinion whether it tastes the same when you lick it from my belly button.” 

 

The effect was as desired, and he choked in shock. Then, he brought forth, his voice strained and stepping closer, “So, I take it you have decided what you want.” 

 

“Yes,” She nodded, smiling and resting her hands at the lapels of his dress robes. “You.” 

 

He needed to hear that from her, apparently, for he now tilted her head with a determined movement of his hand at her neck. When he had lowered his lips on hers, he kissed her like she was the most exquisite champagne in the world, relishing her taste and discovering every nuance of her. And Hermione felt like the bubbles in the liquid had settled in her heart - exhilarated, elated, and ecstatic. 

 

1999 started with a belated New Year’s kiss for Hermione and Draco. But they were perfectly on time in many, many years after that. And every single New Year was accompanied by a bottle of champagne. 

 

Except that one year, when Hermione told him she was pregnant five seconds before midnight and refused that he should open the beverage because he shouldn’t drink it alone. That year, they were a bit early celebrating. But that’s another story altogether.


End file.
